Dear Diary
by cosmo-queen
Summary: Francie’s world comes tumbling down when the unexpected happens. CHAPTER 2 ADDED. P.S: This is not evil Francie.
1. Chapter 1

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TITLE: Dear Diary

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AUTHOR: cosmo-queen

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E-MAIL: kewljewelz115@hotmail.com

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RATING: PG

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DISCLAIMER: Anything Alias related exists because genius burns for a man called JJ and co and so it rightfully belongs to him and not me. Sigh. So don't sue me because there's nothin' to gain! I wish I could come up with something that good though :) Perhaps one day I will, (I wish!) but for now, genius flickers so you'll have to make do with this :)

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DISTRIBUTION: Please make sure you email me first otherwise I might cry :(

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FEEDBACK: Be kind, be cruel, but make sure you review!!! Greatly appreciated!

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SUMMARY: Francie's world comes tumbling down when the unexpected happens. While trying to remain strong, she thinks and these are her long, drawn-out thoughts. My first Alias fic so please R&R.

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DEAR DIARY

Dear Diary

10th July

I thought the radio would help me. Music usually soothes me whenever I'm upset. I was expecting some sort of classical piece by Mozart or Beethoven on one of those classical music stations on AM. But someone, SOMEONE, changed the setting from AM to FM. I thought everyone would know by now how much I hated FM. Who would want to listen to songs with a lot of screaming and no meaning? But, dear diary, do you know what I did? I actually listened to the song that was playing. As much as I wanted to turn the radio off there and then, I couldn't bring myself to do so. It was so ironic that they were playing the song "Murder on the Dancefloor". 

As I listened to the lyrics, it was as if someone had been at the nightclub, observing last week's disco and put pen to paper when the shooting started. Yes, this time last week, I was at that disco, having fun, and everything was still alright. Honestly though, dear diary, it was so uncanny how all the lyrics fitted into the events of that fateful night. I'd read about the song some time ago though, in some music review, so I know that it wasn't written among flying bullets and screaming and chaos. I'd really like to meet the person who actually did write the song though. I bet that they'd never believe their lyrics would turn into reality.

I'd also really like to meet the person who murdered my best friend. I wonder if they bought this song and then replayed it countless times, practicing what they were going to do over and over again, in accordance to the lyrics. Practice until the routine was perfect. I wonder if they requested the song at the disco, and then as soon as it started playing, started acting out their practiced routine, laughing as it all went according to plan. If they did do all this, I doubt if I'll ever meet them, because, though I can't deny it happened, I don't believe anyone in the world has a sick enough mind to do something as cold and ruthless as killing an innocent person, who just wanted to have some fun, at point-blank range.

I don't want to believe, dear diary, there is someone out there in the world, who is so evil and cruel. But I know there is. I don't think evil goes far enough to describe a person who would think about killing another person and then actually getting a gun and carrying out a premeditated attack. They stormed the disco. A disco, for crying out loud. You go to a disco to have fun, to dance, to sing, to relieve your mind from stress and be entertained for a few hours. You do not go to a disco to kill people! Whoever was behind this attack had a sick, sick mind and no conscience whatsoever, and I'll never understand or want to understand the thoughts going on inside their head, that led them to take an innocent life. 

Then they took out the gun, a weapon of destruction and a weapon of so much pain, and reared its ugly head at innocent people. What troubles me most though, dear diary, is that someone would actually want to use that weapon of destruction and pain. Holding a gun and waving a gun around does, in no way, compare to actually using the gun. It does not even begin to compare with pulling the trigger and actually causing the destruction and the pain. Several shots rang out. People in the way were just blown away. The accuracy the murderer exhibited with that gun was frightening. It was like they practiced shooting at targets for fun, and were so driven for accuracy and aim that nothing but a single shot in the heart or the head, would do. 

Those people in the way stood no chance, dear diary, no chance. My heart goes out to them. The moment that assassin looked at them they stood no chance. No chance to live, no chance to escape. The only thing that faced them from that moment on was death. At least it was quick. I hope, for their sake's, that it was painless. After those poor people dropped to the floor, I think most people came out of their paralysis and disbelief. That's when the screaming began. So high-pitched and unnatural. Some dived under tables, some dropped to the floor, pretending to be dead, and others tried to mend in with the dark surroundings, because that was the only thing they could do. But I don't think the assassin had any intention now of killing anyone apart from the person they intended to kill. 

Those first few unlucky people were merely obstacles in the way. But now, at least for the assassin, it was time to do business. No more time to be wasted in killing unintended people when the target could perhaps escape. The target was clever, dear diary, and I thought, at the time, did stand a chance. I mean, bank robberies are pretty often and from what I've heard, there have been a few at Credit Dauphine. I told Syd to run, Syd told me to run. But I was the only one who heeded the advice. I ran for my life. At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do. Syd and I both agreed on that. But I was a coward and she wasn't. When I ran, she stayed put, trying to bring down this assassin. While I started to blend in with the surroundings, she fought with the murderer and tried to get that gun away from them so it could cause no more destruction and no more pain. But it soon became evident, that like all before her, anyone who got in the way of this assassin stood no chance. No chance to live, no chance to escape.

The gun went off, close to her head. A single shot and Syd was dead. From where I stood, a shadow in the darkness, I saw her fall to the floor. The murderer kicked her lifeless body, laughed and walked casually out of sight, as if nothing had happened. The screaming restarted as people gathered around the dead people. Friends were frantically searching for each other, hoping and praying that one of their own were not among the dead. Some people's prayers were answered while others prayed in vain. However, for me, there was no point in hoping and there was no point in praying. I already knew my best friend was dead, dear diary. She was dead, having been shot dead in front of my eyes. And what did I do to try and prevent Syd's death? Nothing. I ran away. 

I hope death was quick and painless, for Syd's sake. No-one deserves to be shot dead but least deserving of everyone was Syd. Most deserving was probably me. I finally found the strength in my legs to walk over to where she was lying. A few people wandered past Syd, shaking their heads. Whether it was because of sadness or because of anger, I don't know. I think many people realised that the murderer had purposely rampaged the disco. The murderer already knew their target was dancing away in the disco. The people who figured that out and had had friends killed because they were in Syd's path, might feel angry towards Syd. Blame her, as if it was her fault and otherwise none of this would've happened. The people who did not know would probably just walk past and feel remorse for another victim. But Syd was not to blame and Syd was not just another victim. She was a hero.

Eventually, I heard police sirens. I guess, in the end, someone finally decided to call the police. But the sound was just a blur. Maybe the police came quickly but to me, it seemed hours. As far as I was concerned, they didn't come fast enough. But I know the police wasn't to blame. What would they have been able to do anyway? If there was one thing I learnt very early after Syd's murder, it was that there was no point in blaming anyone, in pointing fingers at anyone. Until the police came and took Syd away, I sat next to her, wiping away the blood that didn't want to stop flowing out of the hole in her head. I brushed her hair with my fingers and whispered to her that everything would be okay. I tried to be a good friend, though there was no point, as Syd was dead, and being a good friend after she was dead didn't count, as far as I was concerned. Yes, I tried to be a good friend, as Syd lay dead and I keep asking myself this question, dear diary. If I was a true friend, why did I run away when my best friend needed me the most? Why did I leave her alone to die? Why didn't I try to protect her and try to make her run with me? Why didn't I die instead? At least then, maybe the assassin would've failed in who they set out to assassinate. But because of me, my best friend is dead.

I keep asking myself why this had to happen at all. I have no answers. But, dear diary, I have decided that I will get the answers that I need. I will find out why Syd was murdered, if it's the last thing I do. And I owe it to Syd. But now, at least, I have to go to sleep. No point in writing this all out, and having to replay it over and over in my mind. I've already written about it before and relived the whole night in slow motion. I don't want to torture myself with all this guilt again, though I deserve to be tortured. Tomorrow is Syd's funeral and I have to be ready and up to it, and I don't think a lack of sleep would help me to be ready. Will I ever be ready? Stupid question, of course not. But I want it to be over and done with so I can start to investigate why Syd was murdered, and when I have that figured out, I will bring her murderer to justice, dear diary. I swear I will.

^^ Like? Hate? I know it's a long and a bit slow but please tell me what you think so I know where to go if I decide to do a follow-up chapter. Any reviews will be greatly appreciated!!!^^


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: Anything Alias related exists because genius burns for a man called JJ and co and so it rightfully belongs to him and not me. Sigh. So don't sue me because there's nothin' to gain! I wish I could come up with something that good though :) Perhaps one day I will, (I wish!) but for now, genius flickers so you'll have to make do with this :)

SUMMARY: Francie's world comes tumbling down when the unexpected happens. While trying to remain strong, she thinks and these are her long, drawn-out thoughts. This is NOT evil Francie's thoughts and I think the storyline would be more appropriate for Season One. 

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CHAPTER TWO

Dear Diary

11th July

I hate funerals. I've always hated funerals. Ever since my dog died and we held a small farewell ceremony for him in the backyard. From that day on, I've always had a problem with having to face the fact that someone close to you has died. A funeral is just so in your face, and it's when you're sitting on the pew in the church that you realise that it's time for the final goodbye. And after that coffin has been lowered six feet under, all that marks what once was a person, a living being, are some flowers, a cross and an inscription on a cold gravestone.

I sat in the last pew, as far away as possible from the coffin. It hurt to think that Sydney, a bubbly person with so much passion and zest for life, always happy and smiling, always there to offer a comforting shoulder to cry on, always there to listen sympathetically to any problems I might have been having, always there to offer good, practical advice on any subject. It hurt to think that such a good, caring, loving person is dead. It hurt to even picture Syd, lying motionless and still in the cold, dark coffin. So I tried not to visualise her in that sort of state. But it was too hard not too. I deserve all this guilt though. When I think about it, it should be lying dead in that cold coffin. 

It doesn't make sense. Why is it that good people die so early and so young? Only 28 years old. Tears filled my eyes and began to sting the delicate skin around my eyes that I'd been continually rubbing over the past few days. As my sight began to blur, I started to hallucinate. I imagined Syd alive in the coffin. I imagined that she wasn't really dead, but she'd just been having a long , well-deserved sleep, and now she had woken up and was stuck and couldn't get out, and she was screaming at the top of her lungs for someone to help her, except the coffin was like a sound barrier so no amount of screaming and yelling could escape the confines of the coffin. No-one could help her, except me. This was my chance, my only chance, to redeem myself, to show Syd that she was my best friend, to get rid of the guilt that was plaguing me and that wouldn't go away, as hard as I tried. I stood up and was about to make my way to the coffin when someone's hand touched my shoulder, my eyesight returned and the hallucination ended.

I turned around slowly, and was prepared to slap the person in the face and my hand rose in response to my thought. I didn't want to be touched. Did they have any idea of what I was going through? Why couldn't the whole world just leave me alone? My hand dropped when I turned around to face the person. It was Jack Bristow, Sydney's father. I wouldn't dare to slap him. For one, he was Sydney's father. In the past, Syd and her dad had never been really close. He had always seemed more interested in his job rather than the wellbeing of his daughter. However, they'd been talking a lot in the past year and Syd seemed happy with this new-found relationship with her father. I was happy for her. But to me he seemed like a strange man, and I always felt a little afraid when he was around me. He was cold and mysterious and seemed to know a lot about me even though I have always avoided talking to him. 

At this moment, I did feel sorry for him though. Finally, he had started to communicate with his daughter and now, a cruel blow of fate had taken away any possibilities of a strong father-daughter relationship. Strangely enough, I didn't feel afraid around him at this moment. He didn't seem cold and mysterious now. Even though he wasn't crying, I could see the pain and sadness and confusion in his eyes. I guess he was at a loss to explain why anyone would purposely kill his fun-loving daughter. I could also sense a bit of guilt, when he glanced at the coffin at the front of the church. Though what he felt guilty about, I don't know. Perhaps, he felt he had failed to protect his daughter. Or maybe, he just felt guilty that he hadn't been there for his daughter for so long, and now he would never be able to make it up to her.

I felt like telling him it wasn't his fault. If anyone was to blame, it should be me. I was the one who ran away, like a coward, in Sydney's hour of need. I was the one who left her to die. I was the one who should be dead, lying in that coffin. He looked at me and I looked at him. No words were spoken but sometimes, silence says it all. He had lost his daughter, I had lost my best friend and the simple fact is, she shouldn't have been dead. It just wasn't her time. I gave him a short hug and told him that Syd loved him and that now she'd be happy and free from pain, and that she'd look over him. He just looked so lost, so forlorn, so desperate for answers that I had to say something, that I had to say something. He asked if I'd be okay and I said I would be. Then he left and walked to the front of the church, and sat down in the front pew, as close to the coffin as anyone could be. I guess it was a father's final gesture of closeness and love to his daughter.

I didn't speak to him again, though I looked over to where he was sitting, staring at the coffin, as if trying to bore a hole in the deep, mahogany wood. Then he stopped and started staring into space, still and motionless, like an automaton with no feeling and no sense of the world around them. For a second, I considered going over to sit next to him, to try and ease the obvious suffering he was going through, but at that moment, Will, dressed all in black, with only his blonde hair contrasting the dark clothes, came over and sat down next to him. Jack and Will have become quite close in the past couple of months, though why, I'm not sure. Maybe, Will is like the son that Jack never had, and wishes he did have, especially now. Will was going to read the eulogy that he had written shortly after he learnt of Syd's death. He was also going to read a few lines that I had written at his insistence, on my behalf. I didn't want to contribute much. I'd never been too good at English, especially at expressing myself so I left the writing to English expert Will.

My focus soon centred away from Will and Jack and onto the ever increasing amount of people that were beginning to enter the church. It soon became pretty obvious that Syd had been a pretty popular person. I wasn't surprised. Once you had met Syd, it was hard not to become her friend. She just cast this spell around you, though I know that sounds cliched, and you became so happy and relaxed around her. At least I did. Soon though, the people just became a collage of black suits and dresses. I realised I was crying, so I wiped my eyes. I told myself to remain focussed. I stared at the people entering the church, at the people starting to fill up the pews, at the people standing around at the back of the church, at the people who were sitting in my pew. A few people I recognised. Others I didn't know at all. I guess many were from work. I think many people only came as a sign of respect. The number of people who came to farewell a friend they had known and loved for a long time, I'm assuming, was much lower.

A tall, dark-skinned man I recognised to be Syd's banking partner, Dixon, walked in with his wife. His eyes were red, so I guess he had been crying, but there were no visible tears. Syd had always spoken highly of Dixon, and had always enjoyed working with him, so I guess Dixon would miss her. Following him, a small, sort of hunchbacked man walked in, and at his side was a woman whose hair was covered by a scarf of some sort. They walked to the front of the church, greeted and sat next to Jack. A few minutes before the ceremony began, a weird man in a vest came down and started babbling on about whether it would be okay if he sat next to me. I glared at him, which shut him up pretty quick, but moved over. He sat down and didn't say a word after that. 

The whole ceremony went by pretty quickly. I won't go into much detail. I can't go into much detail because I didn't listen to more than five minutes of the ceremony. There was singing and holy music, there were prayers by the priest, there were eulogies by friends, there was sobbing, there was crying and then it was finished. Outside the church, there was a lot of hugging, there was more crying, the hunchbacked man's mobile phone rang and he disappeared. Lots of flowers were passed around, the priest came out to talk and the coffin was lifted into the car that was waiting to take Sydney's coffin away to the cemetery. I stood away from the crowd. Some people came over to me but I walked away. I didn't want anyone to talk to me, I didn't want anyone to find out that it was because of me that Syd was dead, that it was because of me that they were here in the first place.

When I arrived at the cemetery, that's when it really hit me. That's when I finally realised that Syd was dead . Before then, of course I had known, but I hadn't really accepted it. It felt more like I had been dreaming a horrible nightmare. But no matter how many times I pinched my arm while the coffin was being lowered, it always turned out that I was wide awake and living through a horrible nightmare. When the coffin had disappeared into the cold earth below, I had to accept the fact that Syd was gone and that she was never coming back. Throughout it all, I don't think I even shed any tears. How cruel is that. My best friend was being buried and I didn't even cry. Instead, the night of the disco kept replaying in my head, torturing me by making sure I didn't forget that Sydney's death was my fault.

It became too much for me. As soon as the priest dismissed everyone, I ran to my car and sped off. I didn't know where and I didn't care where, as long as it was far away from a cemetery. I phoned Will while I was driving, to tell him I wasn't going home to join the "party" and share happy memories of Syd with everyone else. He seemed a bit concerned at first, bless him, but I told him I wouldn't be able to handle it, and I think he understood. So, while everyone else was at the house, celebrating Syd's life, I was sitting on the soft, white sand that you only find at the beach, crying, crying and crying some more. I gazed into the crystal-clear water and a reflection of a miserable, guilty woman stared back at me.

I sat there for a long time. Sometimes I was thinking, sometimes I was daydreaming, sometimes I was doing nothing at all. I stood up and walked along the beach, the cool water lapping at my feet. I stared into the water some more, it was so peaceful that it was strange, like the calm before a storm. But that couldn't be right because the storm had come, caused damage that no-one could ever repair, but nevertheless, the storm had blown over. I became angry. This storm will pay. I sat down and looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful shade of blue. But it shouldn't be. Syd had died and here the sun shined as if everything was perfect with the world and the clouds floated along as if there were no problems in the world. It was too cheerful. It should be raining, damn it. I screamed out to the sea and the sky that they should be raging with anger because the world was broken beyond repair forever.

Did they listen to me? No. The sea kept on being calm and the sun kept smiling and the clouds kept laughing. Nature didn't care that Syd was dead. No-one cared that Syd was dead. No-one but me. My thoughts became crazier and crazier. I started to cry harder and harder. I saw the tears drop loudly onto the surface of the water. Each drop sounded like the shot that killed Sydney going off. Once, twice, three times, until the whole night was replaying itself in my head. Leave me alone, I started to scream. Why wouldn't everyone and everything leave me alone? Surely I'd been tortured enough. Wasn't there another way that I could pay the price for being a coward? Surely there had to be another way. 

Then the water began to swirl until it formed shapes. A circle appeared, and I stared mesmerised, as Sydney's head bobbed before me. She was smiling her beautiful smile. Then the smile changed to an expression of pain. Then the head changed to a masked person, who was sneering through his mask. I threw rocks at the water, but the face wouldn't go away. I screamed but still it stayed there, sneering. Suddenly, it disappeared and a big wave appeared and I was breath-taken. It rose so high and seemed to stop for a second, and before I could move, it came and swept me away. I was drowning from the impact but I was powerless to stop the ferocity of the wave. Good, I began to scream. Water filled my lungs whenever I opened my mouth, until I was choking. Gasping. Just as I thought I was going to die, the sensation passed and I felt myself floating. Floating and laughing like one of those white clouds above me. It felt delightful. The water was so soothing. It was bathing me, washing away all my sins. I looked behind me. The shore was far away. I was drifting closer and closer to the horizon and was almost on the border. 

It turned out to be only a dream but I feel that it was an important one. As soon as I woke up, I felt more calm than I've ever felt in the past week. The water was lapping at my toes and I realised I'd fallen asleep. I looked at the sea and the sky and saw that it was becoming dark. My watch confirmed it was 6.15. I rose to my feet and glanced at the horizon. There, the sun was sinking low into the sea. From yellow, it turned a deep shade of orange, then to light red, and then to a soft shade of pink. It was the most beautiful sunset I've ever watched and I think that it was a sign from Syd that she was okay, that she was free. But maybe it's just me trying to make excuses so that I won't feel guilty about being responsible for causing Syd to die alone that night.

By the time I finished watching the sunset, it was truly dark. I walked quickly to my car, feeling a bit afraid of the shadows that danced around me, and drove off. The whole time I was driving, I felt really afraid and scared. I felt like someone was watching me or following me. Still, I arrived home safely, to find Will asleep on the couch. Honestly, I don't know what I'd do without him. He has been an absolute saviour during the past week, organising everything and always being there for me, to lend me support, even though this whole thing has been equally hard for him. 

Anyway, I have to go to sleep. I just want to put this whole day behind me. It's been a truly horrible day. Tomorrow, I'm going back to the club where Syd was killed. I think the scene of her death is the best place to start. Maybe it's not a wise thing to do but I swore that I'm going to find out who killed Syd and why, and I'm not going to break that promise. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I know I published the first chapter of this story like ages ago. This chapter was ready to be posted up straight after the first but I sort of forgot about it until now. I decided to put up this second chapter and see what you guys think. If people like it, I'll continue. If not, then it will be forgotten forever. And the only way for me to know whether you like it or not is for you to review. Please?


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